


October 22

by wifebeast__s



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flashback, Fluff, Image Prompt, Memory, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifebeast__s/pseuds/wifebeast__s
Summary: DiMA's question to Dani brings back a memory of the day before the bombs dropped.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likegoodangels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likegoodangels/gifts).



> Every image prompt has just made me think about Dani and Nate. Ugh. Heartache.
> 
> Aanyway. November prompt for @likegoodangels. It be here: http://likegoodangels.tumblr.com/post/152332146962/november-2016-image

Acadia wasn't what Dani was expecting, though to be fair, she hadn't known what to expect. She had never been to Maine, even before the war, had no idea that there would be so many hills or mountains. She also had never _expected_ to be in Maine after the war; since waking up from her long sleep, the world had shrunk itself down to the 50 or so mile radius around Boston. Everything else felt like a dream.

But here she was. In Maine. There were people here, just like in the Commonwealth. It made her wonder if the world really was as big as it used to be. What happened to Europe, anyway? And why didn't any of their allies come to help them? 

She had dealt with those dark thoughts upon her arrival in her normal way – she tore through a hoard of monsters that had tried to infiltrate the city on the docks. What'd they call it? Far Harbor. 

After wiping the slightly radioactive blood off of her leathers, she had asked someone to point her in the direction of Acadia and promptly went about ignoring the questions and comments and subtle pleas for help. It wasn't that she didn't care. Well, maybe it was. Fresh off the Prydwen after blowing up the Institute – with Shaun still inside – she really didn't care much about strangers' problems.

She was tired. 

She also needed caps.

Thus.

She rolled her shoulders and started up the steps, barely nodding in acknowledgment to those that addressed her. Get in, get the girl, and head home. In that order.

It unsettled her a little that this little synth haven was in an old observatory. Were they looking at the stars? Were they trying to control old satellites? The thought occurred to her that this could be another Institute. What if the synths here were trying to continue that work? Had they heard about their creators being blown to shit?

She gripped the bat swinging by her side just a little tighter.

At the center of the building, in what had clearly once been the observing chamber, was a bank of computers and wires hanging like jungle vines from the ceiling. They were plugged into something. As she neared, she got a good look at the synth and blinked – it looked just like Nick, though admittedly much worse for wear.

As Dani got closer, it stood and began to speak. 

It was only years of being in the military, followed by the months she'd spent in the Commonwealth, that kept her from jumping or shrieking.

“You know,” the synth began, its voice soft and melodic, “when I first climbed this mountain, above the fog, I thought to myself: now here is a metaphor worth taking in.”

Her shock subsided. What the fuck was this thing on about?

“You've entered a place of clarity. Understanding. Peace”

Dani fought the urge to roll her eyes.

The synth came closer, still speaking, “While you're here in Acadia, synth-kind welcomes you, as long as you welcome us.”

Dani blinked at him, waiting. She didn't respond right away, fairly certain that he had more kumbaya to share with her.

Her lack of response prompted a polite, “How can I help you?”

She grinned, “Well, I guess I'll take a Nuka-Cola, a couple stimpaks, and Kasumi Nakano returned to her family.”

The synth gave a polite chuckle – maybe it was meant to be hearty, but it was hard to tell what with the strange voice, “I see. I'm afraid some of those things I am not in a position in a give. Kasumi is here. She's safe and sound. You can see her, if you'd like. Before you do, though, tell me, do you think Kasumi is a synth?”

Dani blinked at him. The question held no bearing on the job. She got caps when she brought the girl home, with or without a synth component – it didn't matter to her. There was no Institute to confirm or deny the suspicions. To do anything, really.

“Why?”

“Because,” the synth sing-songed, “Kasumi came here asking herself that very question. And the answer changes every part of her world.”

Dani knew a few things about worlds changing.

“None of us take this transition lightly. She's facing the possibility of her entire life being a lie. I want you to understand that. She has a chance here to live as a synth. Not hiding. Not pretending to be something else.”

Dani felt like she might fall asleep. Between this thing's soft, lilting voice, and her desire to move the fuck along, it was getting hard to stay put.

“One more question, if you'll indulge me.”

Oh for fuck's sake, she groaned to herself.

“You're here for Kasumi, but I suspect there could be another reason you came to us. Tell me, are you a synth?”

Dani choked on her laughter, “They, uh, they didn't have synths back where I'm from.”

The synth looked at her quizzically for a moment, “I know it seems impossible, but tell me, what's the first thing you remember?”

It was as though the words shot her back through time, the image coming to her, vivid and visceral. A chilly Friday morning in October.

She had woken up before Shaun or Nate, slipped out of bed, and taken her coffee on the back patio. Of course, it had been colder than she anticipated, so Nate found her desperately trying to curl into herself and preserve body heat, all fitting onto one of their shitty metal patio chairs. 

He laughed, picked her up, and sat, replacing her on his lap. She leaned back against him, nuzzling his cheek, “Hey.”

He kissed her forehead, “Morning, baby. Didn't expect you to be up. You're better than a sunrise.”

“I was thinking,” she picked absently at his shirt, “I'll take the day off, and we can go out with Shaun, maybe go to a park or something.”

Nate's hand pressed gentle patterns into her back, “You don't have to do that. I know you're working some big cases.”

“You're going back soon,” she shrugged, enough explanation.

They spent the early morning that way, wrapped around each other, laughing over their coffee, peppering the conversation with kisses. Until Codsworth calmly floated to the window, tapped, and motioned toward the back of the house, his tinny British voice muffled slightly by the glass, “Mum, young master Shaun seems to be awake.”

Nate tapped her thigh, and she stood, stretching and gazing at the stream down the way from their house. The leaves weren't entirely gone yet, but there were gaps enough to see into the woods that butted against their yard. She wondered, not for the first time, how she'd gotten so lucky, how things had fallen into place for her to meet Nate, a loving man who had sacrificed so much for her.

She turned to tell him as much, but he had slipped inside to tend to Shaun. 

Dani found the boys in the living room, Shaun changed already, a bottle in his mouth, and Nate cradling him in one arm while nursing his coffee in the other.

“So what do you say, love? We could drive up to Salem, maybe? Remember that cafe we found?”

He grinned into his steaming mug, “You know I can't say no to you, baby.”

“I'll pack up a bag for him, then,” she motioned to the baby and turned down the hall, calling back, “Codsworth, could you start on breakfast, please? I need to get a diaper bag packed.”

“Of course, mum, right away,” he replied cheerfully.

When they had first gotten Codsworth, they had joked about him going rogue, becoming something out of one of the B horror movies that the theater down where they grew up always played. Of course, since then, the robot butler had basically become part of the family, doting on Dani and Shaun alike, especially when Nate was first away. 

Over the years, Dani had learned to bask in the moments when they were together. She concentrated on Nate's voice, Shaun's soft cooing, and even Codsworth's cheerful responses, let them surround her and stay with her. She let her guard down, remembering that home now meant love and laughter, not fear and anger.

A couple hours later, Nate was guiding their car down a dirt road, two coffees from that quaint little cafe in the cup holders. An autumn halo of yellows, oranges, and reds surrounded them and the road ahead, lending the sun that trickled through the foliage a warmth that defied the brisk air. The car always put Shaun to sleep, so the ride was quiet, apart from the hum of the engine. Nate's hand found hers atop the center console, and she indulged herself, staring out the window to enjoy the deceptively peaceful landscape.

Beyond the hills here, the glorious colors of fall, the walls of the car, the warm hand around hers, there was war and strife. And soon Nate would be wading back into it. She tightened her grip and felt him squeeze back.

“How you doin'?”

She turned to watch him drive, smiling in answer before turning back to the window. Silence stretched again for a moment, “Being out here, just, you know, it feels like all of the problems out there don't matter.”

He didn't respond, and she didn't expect him to. Nate had been drawn into battles over resources and land for the past 13 years. He had been in Anchorage; he'd seen the worst of this world, but he always came home to her with a smile. She knew every scar on his body, and she wondered how many scars were on his soul, hidden by his stubborn need to protect her.

“I'm just glad you're here,” she offered finally.

“Me, too. We're almost there.”

The dirt road curved slightly ahead, and Dani thought for a moment that it could be a tunnel to Heaven – a simple path surrounded by natural brilliance. Maybe that thought was why the image was so strong in her mind over 200 years later. It seemed poignant.

The park where they stopped was small and tucked away by a lake. It was Friday, so the place was relatively empty, populated only by a few mothers and their children. They unpacked Shaun from the car, strapping him into a harness to keep him safe and secure while they walked around the lake.

They had made the trek around, fingers entwined, talking about the differences and similarities between a forest and the depths of the inner city. They ate lunch at one of the tables; Dani fed Shaun and handed him off to Nate to be changed, “You know, in case you miss it when you ship out again.”

And for that afternoon, the war didn't exist. 

On the way home, before the sun began its descent, Nate cleared his throat, asking if she'd listen to his speech. As peaceful as it may have been to pretend that the war was a distant memory or, better yet, never happened, she was proud of Nate. He deserved this award from his troops.

Dani had learned as a child how to keep a stiff upper lip, fighting tears to avoid making situations worse. She struggled during that car ride, hearing Nate's heart through the words. He was tired of fighting. She felt his exhaustion, felt the pain of those he had lost, and she wanted to cry for him because he wouldn't do it. Instead, she reached over and stroked his neck softly, hoping it reached that part of him that was most injured.

That night, when Shaun had been put to bed, Codsworth was on quiet mode, the lights were turned off, and she slid into bed against him, she whispered to him, “You know what else never changes?”

He turned to her, burying his face in her neck to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses against her skin, “Hmmm?”

She cupped his face, bringing it back up to face hers, “You and me, baby.”

He smiled, kissed her deeply, “You and me.”

Like a rubber band snapping, she was suddenly back in the present, hand over her mouth. It had felt so real, for just a moment, like she was on the road. She could feel the warmth of his body wash over her. Her anguish turned to anger at the suggestion that Nate wasn't real, that her memories of him were fabricated in a lab.

She glared at the thing that had made it, spitting, “Where is the girl?”


End file.
